


Personal Entertainment Committee

by Waldo



Category: NCIS: Los Angeles
Genre: Angst, Episode Related, Episode: s06e23 Legend Part 2, Gen, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-13
Updated: 2010-03-13
Packaged: 2017-10-07 23:21:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/70313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Waldo/pseuds/Waldo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>G had started talking about staging a 'jail break'.  He was starting to get restless.  He was past being bored.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Personal Entertainment Committee

**Author's Note:**

> Written for NCISDaily's March 13th prompt - games

The longest four minutes of Sam's life were spent on a Venice sidewalk, watching his partner damn-near bleed out.

The longest eleven hours of Sam's life were spent in a hospital waiting room while doctors stitched back together arteries and muscles and skin.

The longest two months of his life started right after that.

For the first five days, G had remained unconscious. For the next week after that he slept upwards of twenty-one hours a day, helped considerably by the large amounts of narcotics used to control the pain. He'd wake up periodically to try and eat a little something and to gripe about having more wires and tubes coming out of him than Frankenstein. And to flip Eric the bird for reminding him that Frankenstein was the scientist. He was more like Frankenstein's monster.

But as they were able to taper off the drugs, he stayed awake longer. For the first few days he spent his time getting updates from Sam or Macy or Eric as to how they were doing (or weren't doing as the case seemed to be) on catching the jackass who shot him, watching the news on t.v. or just getting the office gossip from Kensi and Sam and anyone else who stopped by to see him. He still didn't have the energy for much more than that.

By the end of the third week the vast majority of the tubes and wires and equipment had been removed and they were starting him on occupational and physical therapy.

That was when G started talking about staging a 'jail break'. He was starting to get restless. He was past being bored. He was really getting annoyed with a physical therapist who came in and put him through some pretty grueling workouts twice a day, but tore him a new one if he caught him walking to the bathroom by himself.

So a great deal of time and energy was put into keeping G's mind entertained while his body recovered.

Sam brought by a deck of cards and they played poker with potato chips while Sam brought him up to speed on office news each night. Since the hospital didn't get cable, Sam recorded any of the basketball playoff games that weren't on the broadcast stations and they'd watch them on Sam's laptop over dinner.

Eric managed to find a way to hook up an X-Box to the six-hundred year old hospital t.v. He came over every other day or so to kick G's ass at Grand Theft Auto, while they both laughed at the irony of cops (and their tech support) having alter egos that picked up prostitutes and boosted cars.

Kensi, who was ridiculously good at crosswords, bought two copies of the same book and dated each puzzle. She made a production of tearing the answers out of both books and handing them to Sam, so neither of them could cheat. G had to have each day's completely done before she came by to visit after work. She was keeping score on the whiteboard where each shift the nurse and therapists wrote their names. Even with work, she was usually ahead by two or three points.

Hetty had started pulling out old cases from her time with other agencies and began writing up dossiers with all the important information, and at least four times that in extraneous information (even if she had to make it up) and left the photos and statements and reports for G to go over and try to solve the case. If he called with the right answer, she brought tea and cookies when she came to visit. If he was wrong she withheld the cookies. G had never been a tea drinker before he was shot, but he was learning to appreciate it almost as much as Hetty's famous triple-chocolate cookies.

So it had taken a group effort, but they'd managed to keep him still enough, long enough for his body to heal.

Sam knew that it would be several more months of rest and therapy before G would pass his physical and be allowed back on active duty. And with them being in the process of moving from the warehouse to the old water reclamation building, he and Hetty had pretty much decided that he wasn't going to just hang around the office either. They knew him well enough to know that he'd want to help move things and crawl under desks to reconnect computer cables and that as soon as they turned their back on him, he'd be doing something that would set him back weeks. His shoulders were still so torn up that if he slept funny, he needed Sam's help getting a shirt on. No, better that he not even know where the new office was until he was fit for duty.

Sam got the less than enviable task of relaying this decision to G the day they packed up all the cards and books and files as G waited for his final discharge papers. Sam was also insisting that G come back and stay with him, at least until he could dress himself for a week straight.

G was none too thrilled with any of this, but he wasn't about to argue in the hospital and risk his doctor deciding that he could just park his ass right there for a while longer if he didn't want to cooperate. But he was still quietly grousing as he preceded Sam to the car once he had his papers and his meds and Sam had his duffle.

Sam shook his head, grateful for the knowledge that G wouldn't stay annoyed for too long. It really wasn't in his nature. He'd go back to being bored and pissy soon though. "Now the real fun and games begin," he muttered to himself as he watched G emerge into the sunlight for the first time in eight weeks, three days and seven hours.


End file.
